


zichronot

by MissjuliaMiriam



Series: Jewish Juno [3]
Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: And Maybe Scaring The Shit Out Of His Goy BF Along The Way, Canonical Character Death, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, Jewish Juno Steel, Juno Steel Learning How To Relationship Like An Adult, Mental Illness, Mentions of Alcoholism/Alcohol Abuse, Other, Reconciliation, Recovery, Reunion Fic (sort of), Rosh Hashanah, making amends, self-care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-13 14:49:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20584286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissjuliaMiriam/pseuds/MissjuliaMiriam
Summary: What goes around comes around, or so they say.Juno takes a walk down memory lane, but he doesn't walk alone.





	zichronot

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Jewish Juno Drabbles](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19345138) by [She5los](https://archiveofourown.org/users/She5los/pseuds/She5los). 

> Voila, at last I have finished the fic I've been thinking about in one form or another for like... ages. I don't even know how long. But hey, appropriately it is the month of Elul, and Rosh Hashanah is looming, and so here it is: a fic about the lead up to Rosh Hashanah.
> 
> I'd like to thank She5los for continuing the good work of writing Jewish Juno; this fic is in many ways inspired by the last of the Jewish Juno drabbles that they produced. This one's for you, friend! I hope you enjoy.
> 
> For everyone else, uh, this took a lot of out of me to write; it's very personal and it's very complicated and I'm still not ENTIRELY sure I got across everything I wanted as clearly as I wanted to, but... for my sanity, I'm setting it free. Please read, please enjoy, and let me know what you think in the comments.

_A baby is born. Eight minutes later, another baby is born._

_ Eight hours later, Sarah Steel looks up from the baby in her arms—the older; the younger is sleeping in a bassinet attached to her bedside—when the nurse clears their throat, holding out a tablet impatiently. She normally isn’t one to be rushed, and she’s told the nurse (not the same one, but one or another) to fuck off every time they’ve come back around on the hour every hour since about the first hour after she finished giving birth. But she’s ready now, so she takes the tablet and she names them _Juno_ and _Benzaiten_._

~

Years too late, Juno says, “Yeah, sure,” when Rita asks if he’d like to come by the rec room and watch a stream with her later. The surprise on her face makes him wince a little, but then he offers a smile, the best he can muster, and says, “I’ve been meaning to spend more time with you.”

“Wow, boss,” Rita says, in a voice that trembles a little. She gives him a big hug, and he laughs and hugs her back.

“See you later?”

“Yeah, Mistah Steel, definitely!”

That evening, when he arrives at the rec room, he offers Rita first a bag of snacks and then a bright yellow chrysanthemum. 

“Wow,” Rita says, “boss, this is so pretty! But why’re you giving me a flower?”

“You’ve stood by me for years, even when it was hard. Even when I _made_ it hard,” Juno says, his voice rough. “I haven’t… I’ve never really returned the favour. I don’t say very often how much I appreciate everything you do for me, and I don’t know if I’ve _ever _said how sorry I am for not stepping up for you the way you do for me.”

“Aww,” Rita says, and with the flower still in her hand she gives him another hug, just like the one she gave earlier. “I love you too, Mistah Steel,” she says into his chest.

“Couldn’t do it without you, Rita,” Juno says, holding her tight for a minute, and then he lets her go and says, “So, what’re we watching?”

“Ooh! Well, I’ve been meaning to watch this one stream I always sort of thought you’d like, so I figured this would probably be a good time, right? Anyway, it’s about a witch from the moon, well, one of the moons of Saturn, I think Io? And she—”

Juno smiles, listening, and joins Rita on the couch. There’s probably more to be said to her, but she’s always worn her heart on her sleeve. He’s seen the hurt he’s inflicted right there, open, and he thinks now he can see it healing. The work’s not done, but it’s a start.

~

_Sarah names her children again. The older one, Juno, becomes _Aharon_, dutiful brother and prophet, gifted with eloquence and wisdom. Her younger son, Benzaiten, is named _Yitzhak_, her surprise second blessing, for laughter and longevity and forbearance._

_She presents them to a synagogue community that she’s never been as close to as she means to be. There’s always something in the way, isn’t there? Money or time, or her lack of talent in the kitchen or a tuneful voice to join the chorus. She can make excuses for herself all day and all night, but she’ll be damned if she denies her children their birthright, a place to come back to, and a _way _to come back._

_When she holds up her children before the Torah and before the gathered congregation, she soaks in the pride and joy in the room, and she smiles._

~

It’s easier to make an apology for the smaller, more recent things. It’s easier to put a finger on them. 

Juno goes out when they’re stopped on planet, setting up for a job, and buys the fanciest chocolates he can find. Then he has to find the prime opportunity to ambush Buddy with them, because she’s constantly either working or with Vespa, and he’s got all sorts of plans to embarrass himself in front of Vespa later, but this isn’t part of them.

Finally, he manages to find her in the galley alone late at night, both of them suffering a bout of insomnia. Buddy is drinking tea. Juno sits down at the table across from her and he puts down the box of chocolates between them and says, “I’m a jackass.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Buddy says, but she takes the chocolates. Her eyes flick up over Juno’s head to the stupid paper calendar she insists on keeping pinned up on the wall, despite the fact that they have a voice activated computer than could tell them the date any time from anywhere on the ship. When she looks back down at Juno, she’s got a look on her face that tells him that she knows exactly what he’s doing, and she’s not going to stop him.

“I’ve worked for myself for years,” Juno says. “I don’t take orders very well, and I’m still adjusting. I’ve fucked up a few times, I’ve been a shit about things, and I’ll probably fuck up again. Just, uh, I hope you know that I’m not doing it because I don’t respect you. I do. I respect the hell out of you.”

Buddy nods. “I know, Steel. I haven’t been… patient with you, either. It’s a big change, but you’re taking the chance I gave you in good faith. Least I can do is return it.”

“It’s not much in return for, y’know, giving me a whole second chance, turning over a new leaf, all that shit,” Juno says, wry, “but I’ll give you all I can. And I’ll stop second guessing.”

“Don’t,” Buddy says, waving a hand. Then she opens the chocolate box, makes a pleased noise, and says, “You’ve got a damn good head on your shoulders, Steel, and a steady hand. It’s why I wanted you on board. No use not using that now that I’ve got you, huh? I’m not a damn tyrant.”

“Guess so,” Juno says. “I could be less rude about it, though.”

She rolls her eyes. “If you weren’t rude, you wouldn’t fit in. Now fuck off and go back to bed. We’ve got work tomorrow.”

“You too,” Juno says. “This shit goes both ways, y’know?”

Buddy just waves him off. He rises, shaking his head fondly, to seek his own bed. She probably won’t do the same, because she’s got insomnia twice as bad as his, but at least she’s only got half as much of a drinking problem.

He can deal with _that_ another day, though. One thing at a time. 

~

_In the beginning, Sarah has enough self-awareness left to know that she’s getting worse, and that she’s just going to keep getting worse, but she’s too full of anger and fear to do anything about it. Even if she wanted to, what the fuck is she supposed to do? Who’s she going to tell? The useless police? Her old boss? _

_ No. They all think she’s crazy. She believes in something that’s not real, that no one can prove; she might as well be hearing voices._

_ And her children are just _children_. Just babies. No use trying to explain, they would never understand. Better to keep away, because she’s heard the stories and she knows herself; she knows where this road goes. Maybe, if she’s careful, she’ll get back around to herself one day._

_ So she tries not to listen too much to the nagging intrusive thoughts in her head that tell her to do terrible things, and she does nothing at all. She doesn’t sleep or eat enough, she works as she can, she shuts herself away. She snaps at her babies and hates herself all the more for it, and so she sleeps less, works more, closes more and more doors until every single one is locked with two dozen locks and the world is still knocking. She gets worse. She gets worse, and worse, and worse._

_ She doesn’t recognize herself in the mirror any more. She remembers naming her children, _b’nei Sarah_, and doesn’t recognize herself in them. They’re both too bright, shining and warm, too warm to the touch, burning like a fire and she, she hates herself._

_ And then them, too, just a little. Just a little, which is already too much._

_ Those nagging thoughts never really go away. She doesn’t make it back._

~

Juno brings Vespa a fifth of whiskey and sits down in her tiny sickbay/office and cracks it open. She watches him like a hawk while he pours two glasses, also produced from one of the deep pockets of his coat, but she doesn’t hesitate in taking one, clinking with his, and drinking when he does.

God, she’s great.

“So I’m sort of a problem,” is what he starts with.

Vespa snorts, but she lets him go on.

“I drink too much,” he says, and tilts his glass, good-humoured. “And I’m way more used to letting people beat the shit out of me and not caring that much than I am to actively watching my own back. So, uh, I’m gonna be in here a lot.” 

“I’d figured that out already, Steel,” Vespa says, and takes another sip of whiskey. It’s good stuff; she visibly savours a bit.

“Yeah, just wanted to make sure we were on the same page,” Juno says, and then he looks down into his glass, because that was the easy part. The first step is admitting you have a problem, blah blah—he knows exactly how to admit that he’s a fucked up asshole with a pile of problems. It’s harder to talk about caring enough to try to fix that.

“I could offer a lot of excuses for why I am the way I am,” he continues, “but I’m not gonna. First, you don’t care. Second, the why doesn’t matter, except for as far as the why isn’t making me actively want to kill myself any more. So, uh, there’s that.”

“Good to hear,” Vespa says, and her tone is sarcastic, but when he darts a glance up at her, her face is serious, even sincere. 

Juno clears his throat. “I’m… trying harder. To suck less at taking care of myself, but I’m not so good at it. And I’m sorry for the burden that that’s going to put on you, at least at first—I know it’s because of my behaviour.”

“I’m a doctor,” she says mildly. “My job is looking after you numbskulls and patching you up when you get into scrapes. It’s not a burden.”

“I know. I guess I need to get better about that, too, huh?”

“Yes,” she says firmly. “Juno. I’m here to help you. I’m not a shrink, but if you need to talk—”

“Uh, wow, thanks, no,” Juno says immediately. “Nope, but thank you, I’m… working shit out on my own right now.”

“Well, fine,” Vespa says. She puts her glass down with a clink. “I do appreciate this. I know you’re trying, but you’re right, you _do_ need to work on this shit.”

“I will,” Juno says. He downs the remainder of the liquor in the glass, sets it down, and doesn’t pour himself another one. He wants to, though, and isn’t that the point of all of this? “I’m sorry in advance, and also for any and all previous bullshit.”

“You’re fine, Steel,” she says. “Anything else?”

“Well,” he starts, in an exaggerated tone, “I have this rash—”

“Out.” Vespa points at the door. There’s a smile hiding somewhere at the corners of her dark eyes, and Juno laughs and goes. He leaves the bottle behind.

~

_Only a single person sits shiva for Benzaiten Steel, and it isn’t Sarah. There’s not enough left of her._

_ Instead, it’s her other child who sits in their empty home and stares at the bed that his brother slept in once upon a happier time. His only remaining friend burns toast in the kitchen, and Juno thinks about climbing a mountain in bare feet. _

_ Not a cold mountain. No, this mountain is hot and dusty, and there’s low desert shrubs growing between the sun-warmed rocks, and the path beneath his feet is worn and well-traveled. The image is so clear in his mind, and he knows exactly where it comes from, and he doesn’t think about that. Instead he imagines carrying a jug of water, desert panacea, and walking up and up and up toward a peak, and feels all the while sick to his stomach, sick somewhere deep inside, from fear and hesitation. Something is wrong, he knows it, and he says nothing. No one ever says anything, during the long walk he imagines._

_ At the top of the mountain is a long flat stone, baked by the heat of the heavens. He never quite manages to imagine walking all the way to it, because when he starts to daydream that walk, he hears_, it was supposed to be you_. He remembers, again and again, that it _wasn’t_ him._

_ Sarah Steel is somewhere far away, talking to God. Juno Steel sits in his and his brother’s shared bedroom, and he doesn’t talk at all._

~

“I don’t need an apology,” Jet says, before Juno can even get his mouth open.

“Uh,” says Juno. “I… okay?”

“Buddy told me you apologized to her,” Jet says, looking up from his tablet, “and to Vespa. You don’t need to apologize to me.”

“I mean,” Juno says awkwardly. “I… was a dick to you.”

“It’s already forgiven,” Jet says. “You were struggling at the time, your behaviour was perfectly understandable. You did me no harm.”

“Okay.” Juno feels a little like the wind has been taken out of his sails. “I guess I’ll just… go then?”

“That would be fine.” Jet pauses for a moment, though, in the way he does sometimes, so Juno waits a second. And, indeed, a moment later Jet continues, “Thank you for thinking of me. You are being admirably thorough.”

“Yeah.” Juno rubs the back of his neck, nods to Jet, and says, “Thanks, big guy.”

“Think nothing of it.”

Juno walks away, wandering back toward his room. Thorough, huh? Maybe, but… Jet probably hadn’t meant to, but the truth is, he’d reminded Juno that he _isn’t_ being very thorough. There’s a much deeper hurt in his past, a larger apology that he needs to make than the petty one for rudeness that he’d just tried to deliver. It still feels important to have tried to apologize to Jet, but this is more than just important—it’s foundational. And it’s time, he thinks.

He goes back to his room and digs out a comm pad, stares at a blank message box for a long time, and then writes, _Hey, Mick. Sorry, I’ve been out of touch for a while._

~

_Juno says kaddish dutifully for Benzaiten every day for the first month after his death, and a month and a day after his brother’s body went into the ground he visits the rabbi—the same one who’d named him the first time—and says, “I want to change my Hebrew name.”_

_A group comes together and sings and prays and meditates, and Juno hums the tunes along with them, but he doesn’t know many of the words. The rabbi leads the small working of spirit and when some hours have passed and everyone has had a chance to raise their voice and offer a blessing, she takes Juno’s hands in her own and leads him to the Torah, and she says, “Announce yourself, child.”_

_Juno’s lips twist, and then he says, “My name is Ishmael.”_

_The rabbi’s expression crumples for a moment, and then she regains her composure and she nods. “Be welcome among us, Ishmael b’nei Adam.”_

_And so ends Aharon b’nei Sarah. No one will return to that empty name again; that person’s fate is gone. All that’s left is a soul with no family, few friends, and little purpose… but he’s alive. So it goes._

~

Juno lets himself be a baby about his final and most momentous bit of amends for a few days, but eventually he notices Buddy giving him stern looks—she doesn’t _say_ anything, of course, because this really is something he’s got to do himself, but he knows that she knows that _he_ knows that he’s got to get his shit together.

The problem is, saying sorry to a real person, to their face, for a very real and unresolved hurt is a lot harder than giving a gift of quality time or quality liquor. It’s even harder than writing a letter, even one that’s been a long time in coming. And it’s a _lot_ different than the ways Juno’s been making his amends over the years since Benten died. The thing is, Juno’s never really stopped trying to make amends, but for the longest time his apologies were ones he couldn’t make, because the people he needed to apologize to were dead. Instead, he stuck to fasting on Yom Kippur, making his apologies to God instead, in the place of his brother (and, if he’s honest, himself), and then getting the fuck back to work—usually with not nearly enough time to recover from the impact of a fast on a body that he already doesn’t take great care of.

He knows, has always known, that that wasn’t really enough. That he’s done damage that he really _should_ be going the distance to make up for, but he was too fucked up about it, so he just… didn’t.

That’s all caught up with him now, and he’s all caught up with it, somehow. Except for this one thing: Peter Nureyev.

God, even thinking the name causes a little twinge of hurt high up in his chest, near the base of his throat, like a caged scream; it’s a tangled feeling made up of guilt and longing and fear. The reaction itself tells Juno everything he needs to know: if he’s gonna live his life, his own life, the way he _should_, he needs to make this apology and he needs to do it right.

In the end, he goes to Peter, because that’s the way you’re supposed to do these things. He finds Peter in the lounge, sprawled out on the couch with an actual paper book like the beautiful ridiculous person that he is, and he says, “Nureyev?”

Peter looks up from his reading, blinks, says, “Hello, Juno.”

Even _hello_ is loaded between them these days. Juno clear his throat. “Hey. Uh, do you have a minute? I… have some things I need to say.”

The surprise shows on Peter’s face for just a moment before it’s hidden again, and God, _damn_, things really have changed between them. Not that they ever had that much time together, but once upon a time they could have told one another anything—_did _tell each other everything. They’ve been in each others’ heads and hearts as much as it’s possible for two people to be. Now they’re barely comfortable being in the same room. 

Still, Peter gestures expansively at the couch even as he moves his legs out of the way, and says, “Of course.”

Juno’s sure his discomfort shows on his face, but he doesn’t perch. He sits down and turns to face Peter head on, squares his shoulders, and takes a deep breath. “Listen,” he says. “I…” Fuck. “Peter, I owe you an apology. A few apologies.”

Juno can see the impact of the name; Peter almost flinches from it. But he doesn’t say anything, so Juno just plows onward, determined. “I was cruel to you,” he says. “More than once, actually. You took me seriously from minute one, trusted me with your deepest secrets and respected both my discretion and my ability as a detective. I got myself involved in the whole mess with Miasma thanks mostly to my own stupidity, but you didn’t leave me to flounder—you stepped in when it was safe and necessary for you to do so. You trusted that I would keep up with you, which is _not_ easy to do, so… I know how much of a compliment that was.”

There are a lot of words bottled up in Juno’s chest, apparently. He can’t seem to stop himself from letting them all spill out, like he’s retching up the source of a year-long sickness, and Peter isn’t stopping him. He’s just watching, with wide dark eyes, totally still. He looks at Juno with so much _attention_, and Juno doesn’t fucking deserve it, but God, he has it. “And in return, I did nothing but think the worst of you, withhold myself, and treat you like shit. You didn’t deserve a single second of it. I know that I had—have, honestly—problems with letting people close to me. There’s… reasons for that, but… well, later. What’s important is that I treated you terribly because I didn’t know what else to do, and that’s not actually an excuse. It’s a _reason_, but it’s not an excuse.”

Finally, Juno has to look away, compose himself briefly. Once he’s got his courage back, just a little—and shit, Peter’s still just listening, silent—he looks up and meets those fathomless eyes and says, “Then… Then I left.”

Peter flinches. _Fuck_. Juno knows his own expression probably shows the punch of guilt and sorrow he feels at that. They haven’t talked about it at all, not a single word, and though he’d known intellectually that leaving probably hurt Peter, this is the first real evidence he’s seen. He’s such a fuckup, but at least he’s trying to make amends now—well past a day late, and probably about a thousand creds short, but he has to _try_.

“I’m sorry, Peter,” he says, as plainly as he can. “I left you twice, if I’m being honest. I was in love with you and so fucking afraid, just… stupidly terrified that there might be something better out there, because if there was something better, had been all along, what the fuck was I doing _there_, in that place, that state? I felt… foolish, I guess. So when the opportunity came to prove myself right that it was the same old shit or death, I tried to take it, and I made you listen to me vindicate my own self-destructive bullshit. I would have made you listen to me die, even knowing you felt the same.”

Juno pauses, rubs a hand over his face. Peter knows all this, of course he does, but it feels important to get it all out there between them. “I wouldn’t blame you if you said that was unforgivable,” he says quietly. “And I’m not asking for forgiveness—but I _am_ apologizing. I’m so fucking sorry. I’ve learned a thing or two in the last year about how my trying to hurt myself really only ever hurts other people, and I’m… trying to be better.” Trying being the operative word, he can admit that much to himself, but he doesn’t want to cross the line from ‘vulnerable’ into ‘pitiful’ here. 

“And then,” he continues, “the actual _leaving_.” This is almost worse. Harder to talk about, but he’s almost there, and whatever emerges from behind the blank mask Peter is wearing at the end of this… well. Cross that bridge when he gets to it. Hopefully it won’t be on fire behind him. “You… fuck, you deserved so much better than that. You treated me—I don’t even know. I don’t think I’ve ever felt the way I did that night, with you, and some of it was adrenaline and trauma, but most of it was just _you_, and God was I afraid. I ran away from you and everything you offered me for all sorts of bullshit reasons that don’t actually matter; what matters is that I’m sorry for doing it the way I did.”

Juno lets out a hard breath. He feels a bit hollowed out, scraped on the inside like he’s taken a spoon and dug out all his own emotions, dragged out every bit of the dregs of all his feelings, and put it all out there in the air between them. Peter’s face is… empty.

“I see,” Peter says. His voice is a bit hoarse.

_Right_. Juno huffs a wry laugh, the humour feeling a bit punched out of him, and says, “Yeah, you probably do. Look, we haven’t had a lot of time to get to know each other again, but… I’ve changed a lot. Mostly in here,” he taps his temple, “and a little in here.” Then he taps his chest, over his heart. “I still feel a lot of the things I did that night, but I feel different _about_ them. I’m not going to lie and say I don’t want a second chance with you, Peter, but I also don’t _need_ that. It’s not why I’m doing this.”

Peter, finally, seems to react; he leans in and studies Juno with an intensity that seems almost strange—not that the conversation isn’t intense, but Peter seems almost desperate. “Why _are_ you doing this?” he asks.

“I…” Juno rubs a hand over the back of his neck and looks away again, feeling discomfited under Peter’s scrutiny. “It’s just something I had to do. Part of getting better is making amends.”

“Juno…” God, and now Juno knows how Peter had probably felt just a few minutes ago. The sound of his name in that voice is… devastating. “Please,” Peter says. “Is… are you sick?” What? “If there’s anything I can do—”

“Sick?” Juno says. He’s frowning, he knows he is, and Peter looks confused by Juno’s own confusion. “No, why—oh God.” Oh, fucking hell. He’d heard, once, an anecdote from another Jew, but he’d never thought— “No, Peter, fuck. I’m not sick, there’s nothing wrong—it’s the Jewish New Year. I’m _so_ sorry, I didn’t realize that you thought… Hell. It’s traditional to make amends at this time of year, to say sorry for all your fuckups so you can start the new year with a clean slate and as a better version of ourselves, or… something.”

Peter processes that for a minute, and Juno just watches him, sees the tension drain from his shoulders. God, he probably owes a whole different apology for the heart attack he must have just given Peter; the man probably thought this was some sort of… death bed confession. But he isn’t dying; he’s _living. _

Finally, Peter says again, “I see.”

“Maybe you actually do this time,” Juno says, and sits back. “I’m sorry again. I—uh, wow. I really… probably should have expected you would assume something was wrong.”

And it’s clear Peter has, because he slumps a little now; emotion returns to his face for the first time since this whole conversation had started. Juno wants, desperately, to reach out and comfort him, but he really doesn’t think it’s his place.

“Maybe I should go,” Juno says quietly, after a minute. Peter still looks deflated. “Let you… process.”

“No,” Peter says, immediately. “No, just… a moment, please, Juno. I’m merely overwhelmed.”

Juno nods, and he does his best not to be distracting while Peter gets his head back together, whatever that looks like for him. He sits still and breathes, slowly, quietly, and watches his one-time lover piece his composure back together. The breaking of it had been so subtle that Juno hadn’t really recognized it at the time, but after a few minutes have passed Peter suddenly looks much more like _himself_. 

“I don’t know what to do with you,” Peter says, after long minutes of silence. His voice is quiet, almost tender, and he looks up at Juno and meets his eyes and holds him there, captivated. “This honesty that you’ve just given me… it means a great deal. And I want…” He waves a hand, a little helpless. “So many things.”

“We could,” Juno ventures carefully, “take it slow. One day at a time.”

Peter swallows, looks at Juno, nods. “That might be best, my dear.”

Juno can’t help smiling a bit at the endearment, because, God, maybe he hasn’t fucked this all to hell after all. “It’s the new year,” he says. “Like I said, clean slate, right?”

Peter smiles, then he leans in, touches Juno’s knee lightly, and says, “I look forward to getting to know you all over again, Juno.”

“Yeah,” Juno says, and laughs a little. The mixed rush of relief and joy is heady. “You too, Peter.”

~

_At first it was hard for Juno to hate _her_, because he’d loved her first. Hating her felt a bit like hating himself. But he’d gotten in an awful lot of practice at the latter, and so eventually the former came easier, until he couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t hated Sarah Steel and hated himself at the same time. The two always came together, hand in hand, like the twinned beat of a heart: hate Sarah, hate Juno; hate Sarah, hate Juno._

_ Forgiveness, the same way, comes hand in hand: he wakes in the desert and realizes that at some point he’d managed to walk back down that mountain. The altar that he’d dreaming of sacrificing himself on is somewhere behind him, and he doesn’t hate her any more. He’s come back around, somehow, and remembers that he’d loved her first, and that it was _okay_._

_She’ll never be able to make her amends to him, and he’ll probably never _really_ forgive her, but he can forgive himself. He can stop hating himself for her._

_It’s enough._

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are welcome as always. I can be found on Tumblr @motherfuckingnazgul, and on Twitter @flippinnazguls. I live in England now though, so prepare for replies at weird hours!
> 
> Also, I'm way too tired to do a good job of compiling cultural notes, but I did want to mention one thing. The title of this fic is a Hebrew word meaning "remembrances", roughly; it's a commonly used term during the season of Rosh Hashanah and during the holiday itself, because it pertains to the Biblical Sarah, to whom God made a promise of a child which God remembered and fulfilled. Her barrenness was healed, and she bore Abraham his second son, Isaac. The Torah portion describing this Divine memory, and the following one, in which Abraham comes within moments of murdering his own son, are read during Rosh Hashanah. 
> 
> (When I was in my third year at university, I heard a rabbi give a d'var Torah on this portion during Rosh Hashanah. What he said was that the story of Abraham and Isaac is only in part a story about the goodness and purity of Abraham's faith. It is equally a story about the terrible things that can occur when others--such as the servants who travelled with Abraham and Isaac to the mountain, and even Isaac himself--raise no objection in the face of a situation in which something is clearly wrong. Isaac was a grown man, and it's clear in the Biblical text that he could tell something was off--they'd brought no offering, after all. The servants, too, must have noticed this, but no one dared question Abraham's judgement, and he nearly did something truly monstrous. There were many extenuating circumstances, of course, that held them all in silence, and I don't blame Isaac for thinking better of his own father, or the servants for being too afraid to question their master openly. But it's still a story with a lot to say about the power of silence, especially in the service of evil.)
> 
> I hope everyone enjoyed the fic.


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